Chapter 18

Avery looked in awe at the view of the Blasket Islands out to sea. It was so windy it made her eyes water. The cliff edges rose hundreds of feet above the shore-smashing ocean, and just looking down made her mistrust her sense of balance.

It would have been easy to stay in the B&B kissing him, getting to know him better, but if he was ultimately saving himself until after mission impossible, as suggested by the fact that he’d determinedly kept his hands to safe zones, then she wasn’t going to wait around. Besides, the loud, incessant vacuum cleaning of Mrs. Nolan sounded like a reproof of their post-breakfast activity, a reminder that they might have been up there too long.

Ceann Sibeal was an important stop on her agenda but it was easy to miss. They’d continued up a tiny track behind a site for holiday homes called Dún an Óir wondering if they’d gone the wrong way, then passed the golf course. They went as far as they could go toward the cliff edge and she checked against the geocoordinates she’d stored in her phone. This was the spot all right.

The Last Jedi crew hadn’t wanted to film again on Skellig Michael itself for environmental reasons, so they recreated the Jedi base here. They had erected eight replica beehive huts. Sadly, they had to clear everything away again, as per film planning permission.

“There’s nothing here at all,” Cathal yelled, his sleeves flapping as he pointed at the adjacent headlands, the ocean, the mountains, “except everything.”

She nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. The violent beauty pulled her attention in every direction. The sky seemed huge, the Atlantic even bigger. They were reduced to tiny mortal specks in a single moment of time. It was overwhelming. She felt a lump in her throat. No wonder the film crew had been so in awe. This was better than anything that could be captured on a screen.

But she had a job to do. She positioned her camera. She’d taken her Nikon with her today. When she got back home, she’d code up a graphics rendering of the missing Ahch-To Jedi base on top of her video. Any Star Wars fans who came after her and stood at this exact point wouldn’t have to imagine the Jedi station—they would see it through their smart glasses or phones in all its augmented-reality glory. She might have to include a warning not to walk too close to the cliff edge though—she didn’t want to be sued for distracted fans falling to their deaths.

She found it incredible that there was nobody else here nor any evidence that this place had ever experienced anything to do with Star Wars. The main local attraction—the only local attraction—seemed to be golf, and she didn’t know many geeks who golfed. It made her product even more important. She was a geek pioneer in this wild frontier.

They came to a wind-sheltered spot and sat to enjoy the views. Packing the camera away, she looked over at Cathal. They could be the last two people on earth here. She knew she should be enjoying the moment—the idyll of the cormorants diving in vertical lines, the butterflies wafting by her face in leisurely arcs, the world at peace with itself—and yet, her mind wouldn’t rest. She had to know what was coming next, what her options were. Her type-A personality hadn’t evolved for living in the moment. Unlike Mr. Zen, who was either meditating on that large rock, or sleeping in sitting position. Either way, driving her freaking crazy.

She forced herself to pick up a dandelion, and puffed the fluffy seeds off it in a show of insouciance. “Do you think you’ll always live in Monaghan?”

The statue came to life and looked over his shoulder at her. “While my mother’s alive, I will. What about you? Is LA your home for all eternity?”

“My home is wherever the wind takes me.” She tossed the stem over her shoulder. “I’m not stuck anywhere. All I need is an internet connection.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A digital nomad then.”

She felt a twinge of unease. Had her I’m not stuck anywhere line sounded like she was inviting herself into his life? That wasn’t what she intended. She had zero intentions of getting stuck on a pig farm, internet or no internet. Zero to the power of zero.

“You could say that,” she said. “So, when you lived in Dublin, did you like city life?”

“It was grand.”

Grand, the quintessentially Irish adjective of non-commitment. Whether the experience was “mildly annoying” or “amazingly fantastic” it had you covered. “But? You missed the country?”

“Are you asking why I went back to Monaghan when I did? Well, I’d let my father down by moving to Dublin in the first place—at eighty, he finally gave up and said he wanted me to take over the farm. I refused. I stayed where I was. I told him to either sell or get a farmhand. Of course, he did nothing of the sort. Worked himself to the bone. And then he died.” He slapped his knees and rose.

He stretched out his arms toward the ocean. “I’m sorry,” she said to his broad back.

He twisted around. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were just living your life. And it wasn’t just you. You have five siblings. Any one of them could have helped. You had as much right to reach for opportunities as they did. Especially with your degrees in computer science and accountancy. If you’d talked to him, wouldn’t he have seen your side?”

“He was old-school, Avery. Having reared four sons, I think he felt entitled to have at least one of us carry on the farm. And he was right.”

“Then why couldn’t it have been the first son—what was his name?”

“Cormac. He got out. Emigrated. They all did. They worked very hard and got good jobs, vocations. My vocation was on the farm.”

“Your vocation? So it was what you wanted?”

He dipped his head. “When I was fourteen, yes. But when I got older… well, I lost the plot in Dublin for a while. I got selfish.”

“No, Cathal.”

He gave her a warning look. “It’s what I did. I’m fine with living the consequences.”

“Staying with your mother, you mean?”

“You make it sound like it’s a terrible thing. She’s my mother. It’s a family farm. Tending the farm, seeing it doesn’t go to ruin, that’s my job. And helping him rest in peace.”

“Couldn’t you ask your mother what she wants to do with the farm? I mean, if she’s not well, it’s a yoke on her shoulders, and a heavy one at that.”

“She’d die if I let anything happen to the farm.” He gave her a searching look. “I know it’s hard for a high flyer like yourself to understand.”

“High flyer?” She chuckled bitterly. “Okay, I’ll take it.”

He shuffled closer. “You don’t talk much about your mother and step-sisters. Were they cruel to you?”

“Like Cinderella?” She grinned. “Yeah, I had to sneak out and borrow clothes to go to the ball and sneak back by midnight. Nah, they’re just busy in their own perfect, Stepford lives. If I’d been a teacher like them, or something respectable, they could probably hold deeper conversations with me, but as it is… yeah. They don’t ask me to participate in important events or decisions.” She stopped. “Sorry, I sound like a mess. It’s not all that bad.”

“Couldn’t they get interested in your business? If you explained what it is you did? Even my mother knows the basics of what I do.”

“Yes, but you’re an accountant. Look, I tried, right? They asked me if I wasn’t too old for playing Star Wars and I said no, that when I’m ninety I still won’t be too old. That put an end to that conversation. And it’s better that they don’t know the reality. I’ve a high five-figure debt and a string of failed startups to my name. Intangibles like a hundred thousand YouTube subscribers don’t really cut it when you’re looking for a loan. You’ve never seen the dark side.”

Cathal came closer—shoulder to shoulder, making her feel all warm and gooey inside. “If it’s as dark as all that, I’m not sure I want to let you go back there.”

“I can hold my own, don’t worry.” Her response flew out of her mouth but she was grateful for the sentiment, for his innately protective nature. She let her gaze slide down the side of his face. The beard was getting longer. “You’re turning wild, Farm Boy.”

The blaze in his eyes told her she’d underestimated just how wild. She cleared her throat. “I’ve a good feeling about tomorrow. I think it’ll be the day.”

“It would be incredible to go there with you,” he said in a tight voice.

Then the rain, which had kept at bay all day, decided to drizzle down, a fine mist of a rain. It interrupted their strange moment of… whatever it was.

“Okay.” She glanced over to Mount Brandon, which always seemed to herald the weather. “I’m officially calling it a day. Let’s get one last shot and then call a taxi. What about that one over there by the cliff? Bit of a walk, but we can do it.”

“All right,” he agreed. “Sure we’re wet anyway.”

They strolled along the road and she used the time to call a cab. The rain stopped and started again. A rainbow appeared too, behind the cliffs, just for fun.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—stop right there. I want to take a photo of you with that rainbow in the background,” she said.

He groaned. She clicked.

“Without the rucksack now.” She slid it off his shoulders and down his arm, freeing him.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “Like this?” He did a ridiculous pose flexing his biceps that made her laugh.

“You look like Highlander. And no, I’m not going to explain what that is.”

“I’ve heard of Highlander.” He puffed out his chest even more.

It made her double over, he looked so perfect. She had an idea. “Wait, put one foot up on that tree stump.”

“Where?”

“There.” She swung her arm to point diagonally to the left. But that was the arm she was using to hold the rucksack. In a moment of horror, she watched it slide in slow motion down her arm, tumble over the grass, bang against a stone, bob along a groove in the earth, and then topple over the cliff edge.

“Shit,” she shrieked.

Cathal froze, mid-Highlander pose.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, not the urn,” she babbled, scrambling to the cliff edge as far as she could go. She wasn’t prone to vertigo but it was a long way down to that sea, and those rocks looked unfriendly.

She felt a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Don’t,” he said, pulling her back. But then he stepped right up to the edge himself and peered over, leaning so far over she could barely watch.

“Cathal…” she began.

“It’s just stuck,” he said joyously. “It didn’t fall—it’s there on a tuft of grass. Wait’ll I...” He crouched, then lay down flat and thrust his arm down, rooting deeper and deeper. “Ah, the strap’s caught in a branch. Lucky for me.”

“Are you crazy? Get back up here!”

“I just… I nearly…” He shifted forward another inch. The grass collapsed under his weight and he skidded down, taking clumps of earth and grass with him. She let out a scream. A wave of cold dread made her dizzy. Already sobbing, she rushed to the edge and looked down. Cathal was there, the branch grasped in both hands his feet scuffing the cliffside to get a grip.

“Forget the fucking rucksack! Get up here,” she yelled, holding her hand out.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself and he wedged his boot into a different foothold.

“That branch won’t hold,” she screamed. “Leave it!”

“Here,” he grunted, fiddling with the strap, which had wound itself around the branch. He snapped off a smaller twig in the way and released the rucksack. This nearly unbalanced him again. Still clinging on, he hurled the rucksack up to safety. It landed beside her feet with a dull thud. If Cathal perished because of that…

Anger made her fierce—and fearless. She flattened onto her stomach, leaned over the precipice, yanked on his forearm with both arms, supporting his weight for the fraction of a second needed for him to find a higher foothold. This was enough to propel him forward to flop his chest back onto the grass by her feet. Another wriggle and he swung his legs back onto safe ground. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the sky.

She sat sprawled beside him, simply staring. Another wave of horror overcame her—the horror of having just experienced and only barely survived something life-threatening. Then, crawling backward using her butt and hands, she made some distance between her and the cliff edge. No distance seemed safe enough.

Cathal shuffled up beside her, sitting with his muddy legs sprawled out in front of him. “You are so stupid,” she began. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks, and flew away in the wind before they reached her lips. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He cocked his head at her. “Hey, you’re the one who threw it over.”

“That was a mistake. What you did was on purpose.”

He eyed the rucksack behind her. “It’s my father.”

“It’s a pile of ashes, Cathal, exactly what you’ll be if you take risks like that again. I swear, I’ve never met anyone so dumb.” She pummeled his chest with her fists, unhinged, delirious with relief. She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

Cathal pulled her by the hips so she was sitting on his lap. He was muddy and grass-strewn, but the earthy smell that infused the narrow space between them was the most glorious she’d ever experienced. She butted her forehead against his chest, feeling his heart thumping at a thunderous pace.

Then came her urge to laugh. She let out shrieks of hysterical half-sobs, half-laughs into the warmth of his chest. She couldn’t help it. It got a low rumble of laughter from him. He clamped his hands on her shoulders and pushed back so he could look in her eyes. The torment in his expression mirrored her own. What if he’d died? What if she’d died? What if they’d both died?

In unspoken agreement, she tilted her chin up and met his mouth. The way he captured her with his lips left no room for doubt—nothing was going to stop him.

Like a woman possessed, she explored with her fingers—his chin, cheeks, neck, collarbone, shoulders. Their mouths clashed, their tongues connected, teasing and fighting. With every gasp, she learned new ways to mold to him. And what she found delighted her—this man fit her down to the last molecule. He roused her to a new level of excitement, an expert level where she wasn’t fully in control because nobody had ever given her the instructions.

Her hands snuck under his fleece, greedy to make closer contact, but there was no question of getting undressed in this biting breeze. Her fingers met his warm flesh and the solidness of the muscles that he always kept concealed. His hands tightened like vise grips on her hips, his erection pressing through his jeans into her. She rocked and bucked against him, seeking release. Her body wanted what her body wanted.

With a sudden roll, he was on top of her, sheltering her from the wind with his huge frame, kissing her fervently. “Oh Avery.” His fingertips smoothed over her breasts and she gasped out her need for him to keep going. His hands slid under her jeans to where she wanted them even more. With increasing pressure, he took control of her pleasure points, and control of her mind, getting it right—so, so right.

His fingers worked her deepest folds, her hidden nub of pleasure, and she was letting go, losing sense of everything around her. She was one big pulsating network of points that sang with joy. She reached out to grab something to absorb the ecstasy coursing through her and closed her fist around something damp and stringy. Bewildered, she opened her eyes. It was a clump of grass. She laughed in surprise, tossing it away. That wasn’t a bedsheet. She wasn’t in a bed.

He was grinning too, his hair whipping across his face. He took her muddy hand and dragged her fingers across his face, leaving a four-fingered trail of mud down his cheek like war-paint. He did the same across her face.

“You marking me?” she asked.

“In more ways than one.”

“Do it,” she grunted, clutching the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer. “Now.”

In a fluid move, he unbuckled her belt, yanked her jeans down over her hips, over her knees and past her ankles, then flattened the discarded denim under her bottom. Rising to kneeling, he pulled down his own jeans, releasing the erection she’d suspected would be huge, and she was right. From somewhere he produced a condom, sheathed himself, and positioned himself at her entrance where she was already writhing, arching toward him, pulsating with a desperate need to be filled. She wanted all of him and it couldn’t wait. Because there would always be something stopping her from getting what she wanted. It had to be now. “Now… now—whoooooa.”

Her thoughts became incoherent as Cathal filled her in thrusts, sharp and accurate. She clasped her fingers around his neck, clawing for release, squeezing her fists in his hair, begging him in her mind and out loud in sobs not to stop. It got faster, more violent. Their groans filled the air and frightened off some nearby birds. When release came, she cried out into the wind like a madwoman as the orgasm raged through her. Yes, yes, yes.

The wind and her own heartbeat thumping in her ears masked the sound of his howl as he came a few moments later. She felt him, though, his sudden tightening deep inside her, and she watched his face turn from agony to bliss in the glorious moment of giving everything up. He slumped down on his side beside her, covering her delicate parts with his huge warm hand, protecting her mound from the wind. The gesture felt stupidly beautiful to her.

“What would your monks say about this?” she said, shimmying back into her underwear and jeans—it was getting cold down there, hand or no hand. Her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet, but enough to know that this was a game-changing moment in the life of Avery Hudson. It scared the life out of her but it was fantastic at the same time.

“They’d be praying, to save our souls from damnation.” Cathal’s jeans were back in place. His gentle smile had returned too. “What about your Jedis?”

“Oh, they’d approve,” she said. “There’s too little sex in Star Wars anyway, if you ask me.”